Page 116 of Lilies from Hell

He bites my nipple hard through my bra before lifting me into the air again to thrust against my inner walls, making me squeal. His erect penis thrusts in and out without a shred of delicacy while I try to hold on to his shoulders. When I feel myself about to climax, he presses his lips to mine again, silencing all the cries and gasps I’m about to let out.

My legs buckle from the orgasm. I guess that’s why he pulls us out of the water and lays me down on the ground before spreading my legs and placing them on his shoulders. I make a strangled sound when he thrusts back in. My insides, still sensitive and sore, tremble with more pain and pleasure. I feel myself losing control when he grabs me by the neck and crashes our lips together until I’m about to pass out from the force of his fingers on my throat. That moment never comes, and he leaves me with a bittersweet sensation on my skin as I try to stay steady after another orgasm.

I collapse back against him, leaning on his bare, wet chest. He hands me his T-shirt to cover myself from the chill, and that's when I realize my panties are lost in the lake. I reproach myself for wearing a skirt even though I know he always likes to make my underwear disappear. I’m starting to think he really is a magician.

“How did you find this place? I would never have found it.”

“It was the garden of our house.”

“We lived together?” I ask, frowning. He nods slowly.

“In Toronto, before your accident. When we got married,” he replies, causing me to almost choke on my saliva.

“Are we in Canada?” I ask with an incredulous look and my heart racing. He nods again. “But my passport...” I murmur, letting the words hang in the air. He shrugs indifferently.

“That doesn’t matter much when you travel by private jet,” he says with palpable amusement. I hide a smile and focus on his fingers caressing my hand, thinking about the times my father and Lance have told me to distrust him.

Why? What is it that they know that I don’t? Perhaps his warnings are because of how sadistic he can be. It’s no secret what he is, but even so, he doesn’t scare me, at least not anymore, because I know that his hands are tailor-made to protect me.

“What happened to the house?”

“It burned down.”

“Oh. That’s a shame,” I say, furrowing my brow.

“Would you like me to rebuild it?”

“Would you do that for me?” My voice sounds higher than I expected, but I don’t care.

“Of course I would, love. I’d put you in heaven itself if you asked me to,” he whispers in my ear, then caresses part of my neck with his nose.

“I like the house you have now,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek. He gives me a serious look that goes straight to my eyes, then stares at something in front of him, looking dissatisfied. I know why, but neither of us says anything else.

I close my eyes and let out a sigh of pleasure as I feel his lips all over my neck, until the sound of a leaf near us makes me open them, noticing it’s about to dawn.

“We’re running late,” I say in a hoarse voice, a bitter feeling in my stomach.

I can’t help but stare at the destruction around us when we head to his car, wishing I could recover my lost memories of the house.

A little while later, I’m trying to park the bike down the street from my house, with Alek sitting behind me. I can barely get off with his help, as my body is still sore from our last encounter. He doesn’t let me go until trying to suffocate me with his hug.

“Promise me you’ll think about it. About living with me,” he murmurs, loosening his arms around my body.

“I promise,” I murmur, noticing the exasperation in his eyes.

I let out a pitiful sigh before entering the house. It’s almost eight o’clock. That’s why I’m surprised to see the lights on in my father’s office; he doesn’t usually get up so early. I approach without him noticing me, wanting to know what he’s doing there so early.

His cheeks are red from crying, and he seems to be looking at some photos on the table while holding a glass of scotch in his other hand. I frown in surprise and run upstairs before anyone sees me, wondering what could be making him so sad and distracted these days. Whatever it is, it can’t be anything good.

37

I finish the last chapter of the book he gave me a few days ago and put it on the shelf with the others. Then I go down to the kitchen, thinking about making a yogurt and lemon cake to take to the Fourth of July bonfire that I have every year with my brother and our friends. When it’s been in the oven for a while, my father comes in, wrinkling his nose slightly.

“What burned?” I give him a playful punch on the shoulder.

“Nothing. I just put it in.” He chuckles. I’m glad to see him happy again. Maybe he just had an argument with my mother.

“Let’s hope the result isn’t a piece of charcoal like last time.” I pout.